


make yourself right at home

by zapfinoo



Series: tdc fix-it fics [6]
Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death Fix, Domestic Bliss, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Canon Fix-It, Safe Haven (Maze Runner), Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29840511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zapfinoo/pseuds/zapfinoo
Summary: Newt figures that there has always been something between him and Tommy. A hopeful spark that didn’t have enough time to develop into a flame. But why would Newt ever make time for a love confession that always seemed so bloody irrelevant compared to their friends being missing?He couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been right.That was always Newt’s excuse, anyway. But then it hits him, as the distant roar of the surf beneath the starry sky fills his ears, that there are no excuses now. None at all.Or: Newt and Thomas heal. Together.
Relationships: Newt/Thomas (Maze Runner)
Series: tdc fix-it fics [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/931767
Comments: 33
Kudos: 96





	1. constellate

**Author's Note:**

> hi. i completely broke down and wrote 13k+ words of newt and thomas being head over heels for each other. AGAIN. you’re welcome. 
> 
> y’all: ANOTHER safe haven fic? yeah. listen, i’m in love with the place. IT IS EVERYTHING. and before you come for me, i Know this is cheesy. i know. that’s the whole point. i’m a hopeless romantic who’s never been in love, so i need to compensate somehow.
> 
> so yeah, this is fluff without plot, basically. 100% feel-good, tooth-rotting goo for when you end up in Another horrible depression slump because newt n thomas didn’t get a happy ending together. inspired by six songs (which will be linked in the chapter notes <3)
> 
> i tried to work on my atmosphere/environment descriptions so hopefully i’ve written these scenes in a way that makes y’all See them in your heads. but english is still not my first language, so...... keep that in mind. 
> 
> i am once again recommending my [safe haven playlist.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/78JjeAWyny59MMjinelCkA?si=UPFIlm67TEyOYf4fGc3Fnw) OK I'LL STOP: ENJOY.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen to constellate on spotify [here!](https://open.spotify.com/track/2Ym4gXtx9C78cVb1PRrf77?si=gZ1qgcy0Q4i6bWvbWNoScg)

Newt had a good dream once. 

It had consisted of him and Thomas stumbling through the dry, unforgiving heat of the Scorch, frantically searching for the train tracks and the friends who’d been taken from them. It started out as a predictable dream, considering that’s all they did back then, in those six months of planning the rescue mission. 

But then, when they turned the corner of another gigantic sand dune, the desert vanished before their very eyes. There, where the wasteland should’ve continued, was a field instead. A green, sunny field with roses that radiated ultraviolet light. Ahead of it was a wide beach followed by an endless stretch of glistening blue water, too saturated to be real. 

_It’s beautiful_ , Tommy said in the dream with a rare smile on his face. Then he took Newt’s hand in his and they lived happily ever after, or something. Newt never found out, because he woke up soon after.

Despite never believing that he would ever make it to the Safe Haven, Newt didn’t let himself forget about the dream. It served as an efficient source of motivation in his mind—it’s where he pictured Thomas and Minho when his chest felt like it was going to burst into flames and he was so ill that it was difficult to breathe in between coughing fits. When Newt made the decision to ask his friends to leave him behind, that’s where he pictured them; in the sunny field with the roses for the rest of their days. Because it was the future they deserved, and it was absolutely beautiful, like Thomas said. 

In short, it had very much resembled the view he is currently looking at. 

“This is gonna be a good home for us,” Minho says with a persistent grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. It’s contagious, making Newt break into a similar grin.

The three of them are sitting on the wooden porch of one of the huge tents that have been built where grass meets sand, silently watching Vince and all the others as they carve the names of the fallen into the boulder by the campfire. They’ve only been here for two days, but Newt already knows that Minho is right. This is indeed the perfect home for them. 

It’s gorgeous here. The Right Arm has done a marvelous job of constructing a colony that feels nothing short of homey, with bungalows and the endless supply of hammocks that successfully rock Newt to sleep before he even gets a chance to dwell on his traumatising past. 

The distant sound of laughter coming from the gathering on the beach adds to the lively feeling of the place. It reminds Newt of the Glade, but also not. Here, contrary to the Trials, they’re completely _free_. And that’s what they’ve been fighting for since the very beginning, isn’t it?

“Yeah,” Thomas hums, affirming Minho’s earlier statement. There’s a trace of a smile across his features as well, and seeing it makes a wave of incandescent warmth flow through Newt, into every cell and fiber of his being before it settles and stays there, sparkling and ever-growing. It feels a lot like being lit up with sunlight from the inside, and it happens quite often when he’s around Thomas. 

The boy in question studies the crowd as he absentmindedly toys with the pendant hanging from his neck. He hasn’t figured out its full purpose yet, but it’s alright. The letter inside was supposed to be his last words to Thomas, a way of granting him a way to keep a piece of Newt next to his heart at all times, even after death. But it’s useless now—Newt’s not going anywhere. 

Because that is something he has now: a _future_. All thanks to Thomas’ courage and the miraculous blood flowing through his veins. 

Something in the corner of his eye catches Newt’s attention, and he reluctantly averts his gaze away from Thomas. It’s Jorge and Frypan, waving at them from their place down on the beach. _Come on_ , Fry mouths. 

Minho spots them and waves back. “See you guys out there,” he says, getting up to join the others by the block of stone. 

“See you,” Thomas mumbles, continuing to twirl the necklace between shaky fingers. His hypnotic disposition is like a magnet, forcing Newt’s eyes to always land on him, always return to him. 

“A penny for your thoughts?” Newt hears himself ask, even though he already knows what Thomas is thinking about. Newt knows him better than he knows himself, after all, and he suspects that Thomas still feels guilty about what happened to Teresa, Chuck, Alby, and Winston. As well as every single one of the fallen Gladers, even though Thomas didn’t have time to learn their names. He probably feels guilty about that as well.

Newt also knows for a fact that Thomas feels bad about what had nearly happened to him when he was on the verge of insanity. The _second_ Thomas woke up, he started to fuss over Newt even though _he_ was the one who had a gunshot wound through his abdomen. And he's been glued to Newt’s side ever since, constantly asking if he needs anything. Sometimes Newt catches him glancing wistfully in his direction before ducking his head down in shame when their eyes meet. 

When Thomas speaks again, he confirms Newt’s suspicions. “I just... I’m thinking about ways that I could’ve saved them. Ways I could’ve saved you, too.” His hesitant gaze flickers between Newt and the necklace in his hands, and his voice is barely even a whisper—two further indicators of shame. 

Newt’s heart breaks and melts simultaneously. “You _did_ save me.”

“Yeah,” Thomas says through a huff of awful, self-deprecating laughter that stings like shattered glass in Newt’s soul. And then it’s like every emotion, every pang of guilt and regret that Thomas has been experiencing during the last few days finally gets the best of him, and the dam breaks, allowing a flood of confessions to spill out. “But I always had the cure, Newt. We spent _six months_ with it and I was too much of an idiot to realize that it had already fixed Brenda for good. I would’ve spared you a lot of trouble if I hadn’t been so stupid.”

“Tommy, you couldn’t possibly have known—”

“No, but I _should_ have. She never had a second fit,” he says, looking absolutely heartbroken. Newt wants to comfort him in any way he can. “You almost died because of me. How do I move on and just live with that?” 

Once again, it takes Newt by surprise; the beautifully selfless and brave nature of Thomas’ personality. 

The fire on the beach flickers in the breeze, painting him in warm, almost golden hues of light. Everything about him is lovely—the slope of his nose, his doe-eyed gaze, his sun-kissed skin where countless freckles constellate, even the smudge of dirt on his forehead. This is the wonderful boy who broke the rules, who trusted his instincts when no one else had the bravery to do so, and ultimately set them free. Unfortunate accidents happened on the way, yes, but how could Thomas ever blame himself for doing the right thing? 

“Why don’t you start with acknowledging the truth?” Newt asks, determined to make his best friend understand how unquestionably _good_ he is. “I’m alive thanks to you.” 

Thomas looks at him with confusion written all over his expression, like he is oblivious to the plain fact that Newt would follow him anywhere. And then Newt realises that he probably _is_ oblivious, actually. Because Thomas hasn’t read the letter yet, and Newt has never allowed himself to show just how strong and deep-rooted his love for him is. 

That needs to change.

There’s a specific mole on Thomas’ cheek—right where a cute little dimple shows up when he smiles—that Newt has wanted to kiss ever since the first time they met. Perhaps even before then, too, considering that they undoubtedly knew each other before their memories were removed. 

Newt has been thinking about that a lot recently, about what they might’ve meant to each other _before_. He’d instantly felt a gravitational pull towards the other boy the first time they spoke—like Newt’s mind had forgotten him, but his body hadn’t quite gotten the memo. 

Thomas might have felt the same thing. Newt caught him glancing back at least twice when Alby had led him away through the Glade. It’s impossible to tell, though, because Thomas has built a strong defense around his heart, and Newt can’t seem to break through it. He was never really good at that, after all. Breaking down walls was always Thomas’ specialty.

Despite the mysterious ambiguity of their connection, Newt figures that there has always been _something_ between them. A hopeful spark that didn’t have enough time to develop into a flame. 

Newt’s suspicions of this have always been in the back of his mind, though he didn’t let them show through anything except for brief hugs and subtle words like _you can’t give up, I won’t let you_ and _I’m already in_. There was always so much chaos around them, so many fights to win, so why would Newt ever make time for a love confession that always seemed so bloody irrelevant compared to their friends being missing?

He couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been right. 

That was always Newt’s excuse, anyway. But then it hits him, as the distant roar of the surf beneath the starry sky fills his ears, that there are no excuses now. None at all. 

This sudden realisation is the precursor to his next words. “Please believe me when I say that you have no reason to feel guilty about what happened to me, love.”

Thomas flinches at the pet name, and the usual puzzled look passes over his features in the form of a familiar shadow, like he doesn’t think he heard the word correctly. Like if it were to be true, it would be something life-changing, causing his world to rearrange and tilt on its axis. 

Newt, on the other hand, feels nothing but peace. Because they have time for this now. For affection. For honesty. For _living_.

“Do you? Believe me, I mean?” Newt murmurs, taking Thomas’ hand in his, desperate to finally show him exactly what he is worth. His fingers are warm, and they intertwine with Newt’s immediately, as if some dormant instinct was activated and told him to do so. 

Thomas rests their joined hands on his thigh, looking at him in disbelief. Newt takes it as an invitation to lean in, while still giving him plenty of time to pull away. 

“I...” Thomas falters, clearly searching for any way to form a coherent response. Seemingly tongue-tied, he gravitates toward Newt in a silent, mutual understanding—they are going to meet in the middle.

This is what makes Newt lean in even closer—so close that their noses brush. Thomas’ eyes dart to his mouth before quickly meeting Newt’s eyes again, looking completely and utterly astonished, like he cannot believe that this is happening. Newt can’t blame him, he himself would not be surprised if he were to wake up in a second and find himself back in the Scorch or the city.

Newt smiles, hopefully giving the other boy some reassurance to carry on. He _feels_ the puff of air as Thomas’ breath hitches, feels the unwavering heat radiating off of him. They’re so close now, it would be so easy to just...

Newt raises his free hand to cup Thomas’ cheek, running his thumb over the constellations like he has always longed for. He feels like his brain might melt when Thomas ducks his head shyly and his skin turns the prettiest shade of pink. 

Newt can’t wait any longer. He tilts Thomas’ chin up to regain eye contact. “Can I—?”

The nod is instant. It’s a yes—it is agreement and unconditional trust without even knowing what he was going to be asked. _I’m already in._ Newt thinks that maybe that’s just how the two of them operate. 

“Yes.” A breathless whisper, a confession, an uncovered yearning. 

This is what relief feels like. 

Newt has no choice but to give him what he wants. He closes the short distance between them.

The second their lips meet, a surprised hum escapes Thomas’ throat, even though he definitely knew what was going to happen. His mouth is warm and compliant under Newt’s, inexperienced but clearly eager for more. 

It takes them a while to figure out a rhythm, but they get there eventually. They are learning together, which is all that matters. 

Newt opens his mouth to deepen the kiss a bit, taking control and leading Thomas into every niche and corner of his affection. The other boy responds immediately, albeit a little tentatively, so Newt attempts to silence his doubts by caressing his cheek. Then it’s like a switch has been turned on, and Thomas sighs softly into the kiss, giving it his all with eager enthusiasm. 

The faint voices down on the beach fade into the background, becoming nothing but a pointless buzz in Newt’s ears. Someone wolf-whistles, but the sound of it evaporates when Thomas deepens the kiss even more and tugs on Newt’s shirt, begging him to get closer. 

When Newt pulls away to breathe, Thomas looks as if a storm has swept through his universe and left him permanently changed. Impossibly, he looks even more beautiful now—his eyes are half-lidded, like hasn’t found the strength to open them yet, and the previous blush has intensified significantly. 

Newt’s wildly thrumming heart soars at the sight. “Do you believe me now, then?” he murmurs, stroking Thomas’ cheek to gently bring him back down to Earth. 

It works. Thomas opens his warm, shy eyes and looks at Newt in a way he never has before. He looks enchanted. “What...?” he whispers, voice hoarse. “What were we talking about?” 

The question makes a surprised laugh burst out of Newt, and to his delight, Thomas tries to hide his face by leaning into Newt’s touch.

It hits Newt, then, that _he_ is the sole reason for the boy’s flustered appearance. 

As it turns out, Newt has the ability to make this brave force of a man _shy_. Blush, even. This is the same person who ran into the Maze—without any hesitation whatsoever—to save two people that he’d just met. The same boy who always tries his best to keep his promises. Tommy, stupidly brave Tommy, who was prepared to drive to the Last City _on his_ _own_ because he felt too guilty about asking his friends for help. 

The same person who brought down the world’s most powerful organisation, seemingly without any fear, blushes when being kissed. Noted. 

“Nothing,” Newt says, leaning forward to press another quick kiss to his mouth. “Nothing, love. It doesn’t matter.”

Thomas smiles.

And that’s how their happy ending goes.

Or their _beginning_ , depending on how you look at it.


	2. of the age

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen to “of the age” [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/7FoA4uLN2FnUnOcDfNlX0C?si=ExWjVl2HS1So7i0Q1FcJjg)

The sound of heavy rainfall is what pulls him out of fuzzy, intangible dreams. It patters against the ceiling of the tent, creating waves of harmonious tones for the inhabitants of the Safe Haven to wake up to. 

Newt yawns and tries to stretch his body in the narrow hammock, but something in his way makes it nearly impossible. Thomas’ legs are entangled with his—cold feet are pressed between Newt’s shins, seeking heat. 

His eyes flutter open to a sight of brown hair taking up half his field of view. At some point in the night, they’d managed to lose their blanket which apparently made Thomas curl up in his embrace to find warmth there instead. 

During the last few days, Newt has been delighted to discover that Tommy is actually a very affectionate person when he isn’t running from or towards something. Physical touch seems to be his favourite way of expressing it, and he uses every opportunity he gets to do so. 

It happens in many ways; a warm hand intertwining with Newt’s when they walk beside each other on the beach. A quick goodbye kiss to his cheek before he takes off running after Minho on their daily morning jogs. And now this.

Newt breathes out a soft huff of laughter and brings his hand up to run it through Thomas’ messy hair that the dew has turned into a mop of curls. The boy, who’s still half asleep, sighs with clear contentment and tightens his hold on Newt, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing his face closer into the hollow of his throat. 

Goosebumps break out on Newt’s skin, spreading as quick as a raging wildfire. He can’t believe that he gets to have this, that he gets to wake up to this. It is everything he could ever ask for and more. 

While grinning to himself, he leans into Thomas’ touch and presses a soft kiss to the top of his head, breathing in his familiar scent. His hair is still a bit sticky with sea salt from yesterday’s adventures, and Newt continues to run his fingers through it, hoping it’ll wake him in the best possible way. 

Luckily, Thomas has been given the hammock farthest to the left, granting Newt a full view of the Safe Haven on mornings like these. If it weren’t for the ragged chain of mountains separating them, Newt wouldn’t be able to tell the grey ocean from the rainy sky today. The downpour carries on, turning heaps of sand into small floods of mud running towards the shoreline. He could not ask for a better start to the day.

Then, impossibly, it gets even better. 

Thomas untangles himself to pull back and look at Newt with those golden, lovely eyes that he loves so much. Right now they’re a bit puffy from a long state of slumber, but lovely nonetheless. Newt puts a hand on the other boy’s cheek and tilts his chin up so that he can get a better look at them. 

“Hi,” Thomas whispers as a lazy smile spreads over his face, mirroring Newt’s own. “Good morning.”

“Mornin’, Tommy,” Newt mumbles quietly, careful not to wake the others although the rain might’ve done that already. 

Groaning, Thomas lifts his head to look around disorientedly. “Where’s our blanket?”

 _Our._ Newt does have his own hammock, but he usually ends up here when one of them has a nightmare and needs comforting. That happens quite a lot, actually. For a few weeks now, they’ve slowly and carefully been adjusting to the freedom of their new home and the time it grants them to be together. To just exist. It’s a surprisingly difficult thing to get used to after what they’ve been through. Newt sees Thomas’ struggle with it in the way he holds himself; always on edge, like he’s expecting someone to emerge from the unknown and ruin all the good things they have created here. Newt would be lying if he said he didn’t share the same worry from time to time. 

Last evening, however, neither of them experienced any paranoia or night terrors. But Thomas had looked at Newt with a shy, moonlit glint in his eye and asked him to stay anyway. 

So maybe he doesn’t need his own hammock anymore. Waking up to Tommy every morning—why would he ever deny such an offer? 

Thomas reaches down to pick up the discarded blanket lying on the wooden floor beneath them. Once they’re back under it, he cuddles up to Newt again.

It’s quite frightening, really, how beautiful he is. How much time Newt could spend just looking at him.

Unable to stop himself, Newt supports his weight on one elbow to hover beside Tommy before leaning down to kiss him gently. Thomas returns the gesture with smiling, responsive lips, instantly making Newt ascend to cloud nine. He has been spending a lot of time up there recently. 

When they part, the world is radiant.

Apparently, the low morning sun decided to make an appearance by peeking out from behind the rainclouds. The sunbeams turn the downpour into golden drops of light, and the ocean gets its blue colour back.

Thomas turns to watch the idyllic sunrise with nothing but awe as liquid gold falls around him. Newt’s eyes flicker between him and the view, unsure of where he should direct his attention.

“How did we end up here, huh?” Thomas asks in a voice laced with reminiscent disbelief.

It’s a fair question. When they were stuck in the Glade or the Scorch, who would have dared to believe that a place like this still existed on their apocalyptic planet? Newt certainly hadn’t. Thomas, however, always had hope. A hope so strong that it set them free.

“Well,” Newt snickers, “it all started when the new Greenie thought it would be a brilliant idea to throw himself headfirst into the Maze.” 

A soft chuckle is earned. “I guess that’s true.”

Newt kisses him again, deeper this time. Because he can. Because he wants to. Because they’ve earned this.

This is what safety feels like. 

It gets intense quite quickly, and just when Newt is about to pull away because, well, it’s starting to feel like a very specific type of problem might occur, someone clears their throat. 

Newt has his back to them, but he doesn’t need to see his friends to know that Minho has awoken and is now looming over their hammock with his arms crossed in an unfairly accusatory manner. Frypan and Gally have probably been disturbed by the bustle as well.

Newt shoots a glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, a grumpy-looking Minho is standing there with two spectators in the background, smirking at him from their respective beds. “May we help you?” Newt asks and sits up to face the intruders.

“Aren’t you two the cutest,” Minho mutters, dismissing the question. “You wanna know what’s not cute? Waking up to the sound of you shanks _cuddling,_ or whatever you wanna call it.” 

Behind him, Thomas groans in embarrassment and hides underneath the blanket, leaving Newt to fend for himself. Bloody traitor. 

“Give them a break, man,” Frypan chimes in with a sleepy yet amused smile, holding one hand up to shield his eyes from the blinding sun. “This is better than watching them make sad googly eyes at each other for six months straight, trust me. I don’t wanna sound like a cliché or anything, but y’all really deserve this. Each other. I’m happy for you.”

“ _Thank you_ , Fry. Minho, we all know that you’re only being a twat about this because you haven’t got the guts to chat up Brenda.”

Despite the material of his shirt, Newt can _feel_ Thomas’ smile when his head pops up to rest against his shoulder to take a peek.

A bark of laughter bursts out of Gally when Minho narrows his eyes. “I think you’re right about that, actually.”

“Newt! Be nice,” Thomas protests, pressing the words to the back of Newt’s shoulder, accompanied by a quick kiss. His arms slide around Newt’s waist, holding him tightly. “And Minho, just talk to her, dude. I’m sure she feels the same way about you.”

“Say that a little louder, will you?” Minho whisper-shouts, frantically looking around the area where most people are stirring in their beds and hammocks, slowly starting their day. “Gossip travels fast around here.”

Then he storms off—presumably to find the girl he’s grown quite fond of recently—and leaves his friends trying to suppress bubbles of laughter. 

“No, come back,” Thomas whines when they’re alone again—Frypan and Gally disappeared to tend to their kitchen duties a while ago. “I wasn’t done cuddling you.”

Newt, who _was_ in the process of getting up, gives in and falls back down into the hammock by the pull of Thomas's persistent hands. 

“Love,” Newt tries to make it look like he wants to put up a fight, but fails miserably when Thomas wraps his arms around him, “we’ve got kitchen duty as well. We need to get up.”

“I know,” Thomas says, running his fingers through Newt’s hair. “They won’t miss us for another ten minutes or so, though.” 

As if Newt could ever deny him. 

Before those minutes pass, the sky has time to clear, putting a stop to the rain. 

Yeah, this is definitely what it’s like to feel safe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact, the lyric “when you held me through the nightmares, I felt so heavy in your arms” is what started this fic. it’s 100% a thomas thing.


	3. strawberry swing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen to “strawberry swing” [here!](https://open.spotify.com/track/2dphvmoLEXdk8hOYxmHlI3?si=C4kpDtw9RTK_06MzASITlQ)

Everything isn’t always perfect, obviously.

Of course it’s not. It will take a long time to forget the hell they walked through to get here.

Newt is reminded of this when he wakes up to the sound of Thomas gasping for air beside him. Being used to this by now, Newt rolls over to try and comfort him.

In Thomas’ half-awake, half-asleep state of mind, he reaches for Newt’s right arm, seemingly only by instinct. 

Newt knows why. It’s the same arm that used to be covered in eerie patterns of darkened veins created by the virus. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he is dreaming about. 

“Tommy,” Newt whispers, not wanting anyone else to hear them and be pulled out of their slumber. “Shh, you’re only dreaming.”

The words seem to finally awaken Thomas. He sits up abruptly and takes in his surroundings until his wild eyes fix on Newt, and he visibly deflates. “I woke you up again, didn’t I? Shit, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all good,” Newt assures him. He then tries to withdraw his arm, but Thomas has still got it in a tight clutch, gripping his wrist like a lifeline. “You’re alright. I’m alright. It was just another nightmare.” 

“Sorry,” Thomas says again and drops the grip on Newt’s arm like it suddenly becomes hot to the touch. Then he turns away and reaches down to lace his boots. “I’m just gonna, uh... go for a walk. I’ll be back before breakfast.”

The dark blue sky tells Newt that it’s a long time until then. There’s barely even a hint of light on the horizon yet. 

“Stay.” When he tries to pull Thomas back down, he shies away from his touch, and Newt’s heart breaks in two. “Breakfast is ages away, Tommy. Let’s get some more sleep.”

Thomas doesn’t reply, so Newt joins him on the edge of the hammock.

“Don’t do this,” Newt protests, pressing their thighs together in an effort to get through to the other boy. “Don’t distance yourself.”

Thomas studies the two pairs of boots on the floor, surely too ashamed to look Newt in the eye. “Why not?” he asks in a rare moment of weakness, and starts to tear up. “You deserve someone better, Newt. Someone who hasn't hurt you in the past, or—”

“Stop it,” Newt interrupts before he can get any further. Newt’s inner logic has always been stronger than his emotions, as opposed to Thomas. Admittedly, there are times when Newt looks back and feels a sharp jolt of guilt when he recalls the few blurry memories he has of himself trying to hurt Thomas. It is always immediately replaced by _logic_ , however, telling him that he wasn’t being himself when he was ill. Thomas doesn’t have the same sense of logic in him, and so his emotions often take over instead. “Has it not crossed your mind that we’re in the same predicament? Have you forgotten about that time I tried to press a dagger into your chest?”

Thomas finally looks up. His tears are threatening to spill over. “But that wasn’t you.”

“Exactly,” Newt murmurs, giving him his most reassuring smile. “And the person who used to work for WCKD, that wasn’t you either. It was an exploited, brainwashed version of you, Tommy. So slim it and let’s go for that walk together, yeah?”

There’s a moment of hesitation, and then... “Okay.”

Watching Thomas be so open about his emotions makes Newt want to open up as well. If they’re gonna be able to move on and recover, they’re going to have to start talking about why they need to heal in the first place. 

And so they do.

Neglecting their shoes, they walk hand in hand down to the beach. They spend a long time making their way back and forth by the coastline, discussing the events that happened in the Last City, slowly normalising them. By the end of the conversation, Thomas is finally smiling again. 

As the sun starts to rise, however, Newt can see that his doubts linger.

He fidgets with the capsule around his neck, unmistakably thinking back on the moment Newt gave it to him. How sick and close to death he’d been. How they both thought that they’d never meet the normal versions of themselves again.

Newt needs Thomas to understand that he wasn’t scared back then. That he had made his peace with it. That no one should be blamed more than the other.

There’s only one way to make that happen.

Just when he’s about to reveal the contents of the necklace by urging Tommy to unscrew the cap, someone in the distance shouts their names.

Unexpectedly, an effervescent laugh springs from Thomas’ mouth. “Oh, shit! It’s Vince.”

Newt knows what being summoned by Vince at the break of dawn entails. _Chores_. Lots and lots of chores.

So they run.

In a gust of carefree laughter and joy, they flee toward the forest like kids with absolutely nothing to worry about. Because that might actually be what they’re in the process of turning into, Newt supposes. 

Thomas takes his hand, and they run until the sparse trees turn into an overgrown jungle and they’re alone, completely concealed from any signs of civilisation. 

Well, not entirely. 

They walk through twigs and branches, dirt paths, and weeds until they find themselves in front of... “a _swing?”_

It looks more like a bench, actually. But it is tied to a tree with thick ropes, so Newt figures that it fits both categories.

“Yeah,” Thomas confirms in a delighted tone and sits down on the left side of the swing, patting the space beside him. “Minho and I found it a few days ago when we went exploring. Some kids from Group B built it, I think. I was gonna do this super romantic thing and take you here for lunch someday, but I guess now is fine too.”

“Tommy,” Newt chuckles and takes a seat next to him, cross-legged and content. “You can still do that. Actually, feel free to take me here whenever you like.”

“Okay, I will,” Thomas says, leaning back against the wooden planks and tilting his head to soak up the sun filtering through thousands of leaves. “Especially when Vince wants us.”

Even though Newt feels a bit bad about leaving the morning chores to someone else, he allows himself to relish the absolute peace that this place radiates. The forest is coming to life after a long night—all the birds are chirping, butterflies are drifting by, and even though the occasional mosquito is irritating, Newt can’t bring himself to be bothered. The Safe Haven certainly lives up to its name, because it is nothing short of paradisiacal. 

As he emotionally prepares himself to bring up the letter, Newt’s bad leg starts to ache, so he stretches it out. A tickling sensation startles him when his bare foot brushes against a patch of tiny, pale blue flowers on the ground below. Newt looks around to find that the plants form a nearly perfect circle around the swing, like they grew out of the ground solely for this moment to happen. Only for them. 

Thomas’ eyes are closed, so Newt plucks a branch of flowers and tucks it behind the other boy’s ear before he can react. 

He must be tired from waking up early because he hardly even reacts at all. So Newt stifles a laugh and lets the flowers remain there, secretly hoping that they won’t fall off before they get back to camp so that Minho can get a chance to make fun of them. All in good fun, ‘course.

Perhaps it would be considered a bit odd to an outsider; how Newt is physically unable to take his eyes off of Thomas. Or maybe not, actually. Because, well, the way he looks right now—sleepy and at ease in the sunlight—makes Newt wonder how _anyone_ could ever find it in themselves to look away. 

The blossoms behind his ear are the same blue colour as his shirt, which has been rolled up at the sleeves to expose tan forearms. He is indescribably beautiful. So _sweet_ , despite all the battles he has been through. So keen on forgiving everyone but himself. 

Regardless of past mistakes, he deserves to be happy. 

“Love?”

“Hm?”

“I've been meaning to ask,” Newt starts and reaches out to touch the necklace, “why do you insist on wearing this?”

The unexpected question makes Thomas open his eyes. “Because you gave it to me,” he says in a _duh_ sort of way. 

“Yes, but I can’t imagine that it brings back very fond memories.” 

“We’re making new ones,” Thomas shrugs, like it’s that simple. And maybe it is. Maybe it could be.

Newt tugs on the string around the boy’s neck, pulling him in close to press a quick kiss to his mouth. “Did you know something, Tommy?”

“I’d like to think that I know _some_ things,” Thomas murmurs between kisses, “but you’re pretty much the only thing on my mind.”

Newt rolls his eyes, but can’t stop his smile in time. “Flatterer. What I meant was, did you know that there’s something inside that necklace for you?”

“Huh?”

“Go on, open it.”

Doing as he’s told, Thomas pulls out two ruffled pieces of paper from the capsule, written by Newt in his most vulnerable state. 

Thomas lies down, propping his head on Newt’s good leg and reads the letter with insistent scrutiny. To give him some peace of mind, Newt runs his fingers through his hair while carefully avoiding the bundle of flowers. He also pushes the swing into motion with the foot resting on the ground, making the breeze pick up pleasantly as they move back and forth. 

By the time Thomas is on page two, sniffles can be heard. And right after he finishes reading it, he pulls Newt into a tight hug that feels like home. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles, pressing his face against Newt’s neck.

“What for?”

“For fighting it, I guess. The virus, I mean,” Thomas croaks. “And for following me here. For forgiving me even though you didn’t have to.”

“You’re the one who saved me, Tommy,” Newt says, running his hands over Thomas’ back in a way he hopes is soothing. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“Yeah, I do. ‘Cause I know that it’s selfish of me to say, but I don’t know what I’d do without you here, okay? I’d fall apart. I need my glue.”

“Good thing I’ll always be around, then.” 

Thomas pulls back and takes his face in both of his hands before kissing him fiercely. Newt responds with the same silent desperation and raises a hand to grab Thomas’ wrist where his steady pulse beats like the comforting thump of a drum. 

“I can’t believe you wrote me a _love letter_ ,” Thomas laughs when they part.

“I suppose I did, yeah.”

“You’re not allowed to call _me_ sappy ever again.”

And this—

This is what being in love feels like.


	4. new song / illuminate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen to “new song” [here! ](https://open.spotify.com/track/3PUMPtOSeXSJsBvK43K96b?si=jrlAXusXTsyFDdamIvXjSQ) you can find “illuminate” [here.](https://open.spotify.com/track/6iLbCf56R6QtGDpjvtO8Jn?si=LSPACMwWT92Yv_GdZbd8JQ) warning for smut in this chapter. yes i am embarrassed. no i will not apologize.

The evenings are always the best part, in Newt’s opinion.

They are sat on the benches around the campfire, enjoying the company of the nearby ocean, their eternal freedom, and each other. 

Much to his satisfaction, the small circle only consists of Newt’s closest friends. The others are scattered around the site, hosting several different dinner celebrations because there are way too many inhabitants here to fit into one place at the same time. He’s got Minho to his left and Thomas pressed up against his right side, both laughing at something Jorge just said that got lost amongst all the loud chatter.

Thomas is enthusiastically sipping on a jar of Gally’s brew, clearly finding it significantly less distasteful than he did mere minutes ago. Newt should probably tell him to slow down on his steady consumption of the drink, but it’s extremely challenging when he keeps laughing directly into Newt’s ear and leaning on his shoulder. Best of all, though, is that he’s practically _glowing_. With flushed cheeks and shimmering eyes, Thomas has never looked happier or more alive. Newt finds himself fully unable to tear his gaze away. 

And because Newt himself has had a few drinks as well, he can’t stop himself when his body urges him to lean forward and press an open-mouthed kiss to Thomas’ neck. He knows for a fact that it’ll make him squirm. 

It does. The lively stream of words that were in the process of pouring out of Thomas’ mouth comes to a stop instantly, and he stiffens. Brenda—who was obviously right in the middle of a conversation with him—laughs into her drink. 

“Newt...” Thomas groans, hiding his flushed cheeks from their friends by leaning against him. “Not here.”

The devil on Newt’s shoulder laughs. “Why not?” He smirks, knowing very well how much Thomas likes it when he kisses his neck. It is quite a newfound discovery, actually, and Newt will use every opportunity he gets in the future to tease him for it. 

Thomas shoots him a pointed glare, which, admittedly, is weakened in effect when the corners of his mouth twitch. “You know why.” 

“Alright, love. Won’t happen again.”

Thomas flashes him a fond smile. “Liar.”

Maybe they’re not being as subtle as Newt first thought, because their conversation seems to catch the attention of Vince, who is sat a few feet away on another bench. “So, Thomas... You’re his _love_ now, huh?” Their leader asks, beaming from ear to ear. 

To Newt’s surprise, Thomas doesn’t blush or mumble some incoherent response in a poor attempt to hide his embarrassment. “Yeah,” he says instead, looking at Newt with wondrous disbelief written all over his pretty features. “I am, apparently.”

It’s not like they were keeping it a secret up until now, but Newt’s heart still flutters when hearing him say it so openly like that. 

Harriet and Sonya start to fuss over them all at once, cooing and smiling like this is news to them. It’s not. Once again, they haven’t exactly been subtle. 

Vince, who’s clearly had a soft spot for Thomas ever since he found out that he was their source, shoots a look of approval their way, raising his glass toward them. “Good for you, kid.”

“Are you telling me that you have missed out on the talk of the town, Vince?” Minho asks with a mouth full of stew. “These two are disgustingly crazy about each other. Great for the reproduction odds of this place.”

Newt gives him his most annoyed glare, but Minho only shrugs and accepts high-fives from Jorge and Frypan, who have broken out into a joint fit of maniacal cackles. 

“Ugh. Minho, I’m _eating_ ,” Gally groans, apparently feeling the need to contribute to the conversation. “Speaking of that, though—remind me to build a _very_ secluded hut for you two someday.”

Newt is about to tell him to take his smug remark and piss off, but... a hut would actually be quite useful. He and Thomas haven’t found a lot of time to be alone yet, after all. There isn’t much privacy around here. 

“Uh, _anyway_ ,” Thomas croaks, beet red and adorable as always. He looks around, not-so-discreetly searching for an excuse to change the subject. 

Fortunately, an opportunity presents itself. Maggie, one of the original members of the Right Arm, walks past them with her guitar in hand. She carries it around everywhere. Music is not something they can take for granted nowadays, so they are forced to make their own in any way they can. Luckily, there are some gifted people around this place. 

“Hey, Mags!” Thomas shouts, catching the woman’s attention. 

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind playing us a song?” He asks, leaning back and watching with obvious relief as the attention of their friends is directed toward someone else. “The last one you wrote was really good.”

“Thanks, Thomas,” Maggie says, shyly hiding behind her long veil of brown hair. “I do have a new song, but I don’t have a name for it yet. I can totally play it, though. If you guys are okay with that, of course.”

“Absolutely,” Vince replies, making space for Maggie to sit between him and Gally. “We’d love to hear it.”

One song is followed by many more when everyone, including Newt, forgets about the concept of time and lets the night carry on seamlessly. (It doesn't help that Frypan keeps refilling everybody’s cups.) 

Just as anticipated, Maggie’s songs turn out to be about things that they’re all very familiar with—the apocalypse, the virus, and the desperate hope for a cure. But also finding peace somewhere amongst all that chaos. 

Because they finally have. 

A few hours into the evening, Vince says goodnight and goes to bed. Jorge, Frypan, Sonya, and Harriet all follow along shortly. Maggie keeps her spot in the middle of the ring, however, happily continuing to strum on her guitar and humming soft harmonies for the lingering crowd. 

Before Fry left, he’d given Thomas one last refill and draped a blanket over them both. The blanket part is highly appreciated, but the drink... maybe not so much. Thomas is starting to look like he’s going to suffer the consequences of it tomorrow morning; he’s affectionate, even more so than usual, and keeps stealing food from Newt’s plate. (It’s not like he has any complaints about that, though.)

“Hey,” Thomas murmurs, leaning into Newt’s universe, vaporising all his rational thoughts by replacing them with mush. “Wanna know a secret?”

Newt hums in affirmation and cups his cheek, which is now tinted a light shade of pink due to his tipsy state. “Go on.”

“I like you,” Thomas whispers. “So much.”

Newt’s heart proceeds to skip several beats. Perhaps a slightly drunk Thomas isn’t too bad, after all. “That’s hardly a secret, now, is it?”

Thomas laughs, closing the distance between them to press a quick kiss to his mouth. It’s barely even a real kiss, though—they’re both smiling too much. “I guess I’ve been kinda obvious about it.”

“A bit, yeah,” Newt says through a fond chuckle. Much to his delight, it makes Thomas kiss him once more. 

When he opens his eyes, he almost misses the way Minho rolls his eyes at them before resuming his conversation with Gally. “Tommy,” Newt whispers, stroking the boy’s cheek. “What happened to _not here?”_

“Can’t help myself around you,” Thomas admits, eyes swimming with sincerity. Unfortunately, Newt doesn’t get the chance to get lost in them before they’re interrupted.

“I think we’re gonna call it a night, fellas,” Minho says. How long has he been stood right next to them? “Enjoy the rest of yours. And don’t screw around too much, if you know what I mean.”

Newt only rolls his eyes, can’t even be bothered to come up with a reply. 

Before the boys leave, Gally hands him a half-full bottle of water. “Here,” he says, nodding to Thomas, who is on the verge of passing out on Newt’s shoulder, lulled halfway to sleep by the distant sound of Maggie’s guitar. “He looks like he might need it.” 

“Thanks, mate,” Newt replies, a bit taken aback by Gally’s candid hospitality. It’s rather nice to see him settling back into his old self.

As they scurry off, Thomas stirs in his embrace. 

“Drink this,” Newt says, handing him the water bottle. “Otherwise you’ll feel like shit tomorrow.”

“Thanks. I love it when you do that, by the way,” Thomas mumbles before taking a sip.

“Do what?”

“You know, take care of me,” he replies, adorably sheepish. “I appreciate it.”

 _Right_ , Newt thinks, a bit thrown off guard by the confession. _Okay_. And it hits him, then, that Thomas’ tendency to take on the leader role and tending to them as a group has twisted Newt’s perception of him. He hasn't stopped to consider the fact that being taken care of is something Tommy needs.

But as it turns out, he does. Maybe in a way Newt would never have expected. 

The thing is, Thomas has always been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Occasionally, though, he builds walls around his heart to appear more confident in times of dread, probably because the last thing he wants to do is bother anyone else with his troubles. It’s a convincing disguise, Newt can admit that, but he knows Thomas well enough by now to see past it. 

If Newt is a steady cliff, then Tommy is a fire. A blazing, wavering fire, unpredictable in the turbulent wind of all his emotions. He feels things more acutely than anyone else—loyalty, responsibility, spite, rage, guilt. He’s Atlas, but a version who has taken on the burden of the weight of the world _willingly_ to make up for mistakes in a past life. Mistakes that he can barely even remember making. 

A second epiphany makes its way up Newt’s consciousness—Thomas has been too selfless to ask for care from anyone, especially Newt, whom he feels guilty about hurting. 

But there’s an endless amount of time now, and Newt is going to give him what he wants. He’s going to give back. 

Thomas speaks up again, breaking Newt out of the cluster of realisations in his mind. “So, um. Do you wanna sleep in my hammock tonight, or...?”

“Yes, Tommy, we’ve been sharin’ it for weeks now. Do you think I’ve changed my mind about you?”

He expects him to laugh, considering the absurdity of the question. Unfortunately, that doesn’t happen. “I mean... I just want you to know that if you ever _did_ , that would be okay. I don’t want you to feel obligated to be with me.” 

Newt sends a quiet prayer of thanks to Frypan, who’d insisted on giving Thomas another refill of what is essentially a truth serum. A sober version of him wouldn’t have let himself confess that. 

Loyalty is important to Thomas, perhaps even the most vital quality he yearns for. He gives it to people who he loves, and rightfully expects it to be returned. Therefore, of course Teresa’s betrayal broke something in him. She pulled the rug out beneath his feet by changing sides, and Newt sees it now, how that pain and worry still exists within him. 

And even though Newt finds it scary to expose the thoughts of his heart and soul, he deems it absolutely necessary. He needs to show Thomas that he has every intention of staying at his side. Always. Unconditionally. 

“I don’t feel that way. Never in a million years, love,” he says, taking Thomas’ hand in his, desperate to convince him of this fact. When looking around, however, Newt understands that this is not the ideal place to pour his heart out. There are still some persistent souls remaining by the campfire. The cramped sleeping area is no better—Minho will hit him over the head if they wake him up one more time. “Actually, hang on, let’s not go to bed quite yet. D’you want to go for a night swim instead?”

Thomas blinks in surprise. 

Then he nods.

Their beach has to be the greatest one on planet Earth. 

Granted, Newt hasn’t seen many beaches in his lifetime. But lovelier ones do not exist, surely.

The most brilliant part about this particular beach is that it has a big cliff at the far right end of it, and it serves as a curtain, completely shielding them from the camp and any potential unwanted guests. 

After igniting some leftover firewood from previous bonfires, they spread the blanket out on the sand. 

Thomas then proceeds to take his jumper _and_ shirt off in one go. Newt has seen him without a top on many times, but it’s never been quite like this. Since arriving at the Safe Haven, they’ve never experienced the implications of all-consuming silence and solitude around them. 

And so, Newt can't help but wonder if Thomas would like to take advantage of this rare opportunity they’ve been given. 

When they’re both dressed down to their underwear, excited hands find Newt’s. “Come on,” Thomas says with twinkling eyes and sets off for the shoreline. 

Newt follows him without any hesitation whatsoever. As always. 

The sea is rather cold this time of night, but it’s nothing they can’t get used to. They wade through it until they find themselves with water up to their waists and the fire is just a tiny little speck of orange on the beach. The only sounds that can be heard is the faint hum of the crickets and small ocean waves, coming in to gently lap at their skin. 

Newt takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with humid, salt-scented air. Despite the absence of his memories, he knows for a fact that he has never known peace like this before. 

Thomas seems to share his thoughts. “I can’t believe...” he trails off, undoubtedly distracted by the bright moon reflected on dark water and the unceasing beauty all around them. 

Newt understands completely. How in the bloody hell did they actually manage to end up here, in defiance of what felt like the entire world against them? 

It’s too good to be true, Newt knows that. And yet, here he is, with what he’s sure is the love of his life beside him, and a shared, anticipative future ahead. 

_This_ is the perfect opportunity. Here it goes, then. Time to let Tommy see right through him.

Newt is just about to speak up when Thomas unknowingly delays the confession by throwing his arms around his neck, pulling them closer to each other and consequently derailing Newt’s train of thought. 

Shy, golden-brown eyes find his. Eyelashes brush against Newt’s cheek as they flutter closed when Thomas leans in to press the softest of kisses to his mouth. 

Ever since they got here, they’ve been together like this. It’s been _weeks_ , and yet, Thomas’s kisses are still tentative, like he is afraid of asking Newt for too much. Like he feels bad about asking for anything at all, actually. 

Knowing Thomas, that is most definitely the case.

In an effort to change the boy’s attitude, Newt deepens the kiss, tilting his head to the side and disarming Thomas of all his armour until he’s been reduced to nothing but eager sighs, rosy cheeks, and wandering hands. 

Newt is about to break the kiss and suggest that they should go back to the beach when a big wave of cold water sloshes over him, reaching all the way up to his shoulders and surprising them both for a second before it passes by. 

The two of them laugh into the kiss, startled by the sudden interruption. When Newt pulls away and opens his eyes, he quickly realises two things.

The whole world has been lit up with bright shades of neon blue. 

So has Thomas. 

The previously dark, almost black sea has transformed entirely. It almost looks as if someone managed to dump a bucket of blue glitter on them in the time they had their eyes closed. The water they’re standing in is now literally _shining_. 

“What—?” Thomas mumbles under his breath and studies his glittering hands in awe, looking like he just unlocked some sort of superpower. 

The reason seems to dawn on them at the exact same time—the big wave must’ve brought in a blob of glowing algae. Vince’s been gushing about it ever since they got here, telling every newcomer how lovely it is and that they simply _have_ to try to find some. 

And, well. It would seem like the organisms found them first. 

Newt lets go of Thomas’ waist to look at his own hands, and sure enough, they’re the same way. He runs a finger over his palm, and the tiny grains of light brightens in its wake, like he possesses the power to control their luminescence. 

An echo of Vince’s voice provides him with an explanation. _The glow is activated when the algae is disturbed by a breaking wave or a splash in the water_. Or, as it turns out, physical contact.

Thomas looks up from his hands to meet Newt’s gaze. Then they burst out into a fit of disbelieving, breathless laughter. 

Thomas smirks and Newt barely has time to react before he is splashed with water, creating a turquoise nebula on his chest which lights up when activated by the impact. The action heightens the volume of their joint laughter, and they continue the water fight, drawing patterns and swirls in the shimmering water and basking in the absolute beauty of the situation. 

As you do. 

“This is crazy,” Thomas says when the laughter dies down. He bites his lip to fight a smile, but doesn’t quite succeed. “Speaking of crazy, can I tell you something?”

Newt hums, pulling the boy closer. “Anything.”

Thomas goes, faithfully wrapping his arms around him without a second thought. “I realised something just now,” he mumbles. His eyes flicker between Newt’s eyes and mouth, causing his heart to stutter. “We’ve been through a lot, but you make me feel like I’m gonna be okay. I know you think that I have nothing to feel guilty about, but I do, and—”

It’s pitch black outside (aside from the peculiar glow of the algae), but the words make a stream of pure light touch Newt’s skin, lifting his spirits but also making him ache. Because in spite of Newt’s greatest efforts to prevent it, Thomas still feels like he should be found at fault. “No, Tommy, we’ve been over this—”

“Shh, let me finish,” Thomas cuts in. “What I’m trying to say is that despite everything, you are _my_ cure. You help me heal, but you’re also starting to make me believe that I _deserve_ to. Um, does that make any sense?”

“Yes,” Newt murmurs under his breath, speechless and now drunk on something way stronger than Gally’s brew. They both are, it would seem. 

“Good. I love you, Newt,” Thomas says then, pressing the universe’s pause button. Once again, the two of them are on the exact same page—but Thomas got there faster. And he is one hundred percent genuine about his statement. Newt can _see_ it, despite the vast darkness surrounding them. “I figure I must’ve loved you even before the Maze. Something tells me that you probably had a lot to do with the decision to finally turn my back on WCKD. So... thank you for being my reason.” 

Thomas continues to be the brave one, the one willing to take the first irrevocable leap. Good thing it makes Newt want to follow his lead. “I love _you_ , Tommy. More than anything. As I said back in the Scorch, you are the reason we’re free. Never forget that, alright?”

It’s only about half the words he was going to say and not enough by any means, but it’ll have to do. 

Fortunately, it seems to do the work anyway. Thomas surges forward to kiss him, not as carefully this time. It’s slow and charged with dizzying electricity right from the start—deliberate, even. The underlying tinge of obvious intention is felt in the way Thomas curls his tongue into his mouth, tearing involuntary sounds from the back of Newt’s throat. It is tense in a way it never has been before. 

When Thomas—restless as always—tries to speed up the tempo, Newt slows him down. He intends to make this last. They have all the time in the world here, in their own aquamarine universe with their own stars and planets, sparkling and shining just for them. 

It pains Newt to do it, but eventually he pulls away to put some distance between them. He is met by the lovely sight of dark, dilated pupils with blue speckles reflected in them. There’s something else there as well; a hint of a mutual understanding, a wordless decision made by them both. 

The rise and fall of Thomas’s chest indicates just how affected he is after one single kiss. Newt places two fingers under his chin to tilt it upward before pressing featherlight kisses to his lips. Just to be a tease, he pulls away right before Thomas gets the chance to respond properly, eliciting quiet whimpers of frustration from him after each one. 

“What do you say, Tommy,” Newt whispers, low and sultry, before leaning in to press a kiss to the other boy’s jaw. “Is this...” another is placed on his throat, “a more fitting place,” and another, “to do this?” 

Thomas shudders, exhales shakily. Then—

“I can think of a better one.”

They stumble up the beach without letting go of each other, leaving glittering footprints in the soft sand. The makeshift campfire is still burning, illuminating the path back to the blanket and their scattered clothes. 

Once seated, Thomas clings to him, kissing Newt in a desperate and almost frantic way, like he is in a rush to accomplish something. 

“Wanna make you feel good,” he mumbles in between kisses. 

Oh, so _that’s_ what this is about. His Tommy; always ready to be the hero, always willing to put himself last. But that’s not how tonight's gonna go, Newt’s already decided. 

So he slides a hand into Thomas’ hair, tugging on it and using it to hold him in place. “How about you wait for your turn, darling?” 

The moment the words leave Newt’s mouth, he is surprised by his own attitude. It’s not a question, not really. It’s a firm statement, nearly an _order_ , and it seems to flip a switch somewhere in Thomas’s brain. A dazed, far-away look of indisputable bliss replaces the previous impatience in his eyes, and Newt swears that they are much darker now than they were just a few seconds ago. 

“I—yeah. Yeah, okay,” Thomas stutters, giving in to the command by letting Newt gently push him backward until he is lying on the blanket.

Something in Newt’s stomach flutters when it dawns on him that he was absolutely right; Tommy wants this. He wants to be taken care of in this way. And Newt would love nothing more than to provide him of exactly that.

As he lies there, expectant and waiting, Newt takes a moment to drink him in. The blue stardust sparkles and flickers repeatedly, turning Thomas’ skin into a firelit galaxy of ceaseless beauty. He is, to put it very simply, the most captivating sight Newt’s ever laid his eyes on. 

“Newt,” Thomas says through ragged breaths, clearly embarrassed by the unwavering stare. “Come here? Please,” he begs, so faint that it almost gets lost in the distant sound of ocean waves crashing against the shore. 

The sweetest of sounds escape Thomas’s throat when Newt complies by clambering over him to connect their lips once more. 

As they kiss, Thomas’ hand makes its way across his skin until it finds a spot on the small of Newt’s back. He puts pressure there, pressing their hips together, creating wonderful friction which startles them both, knocking the breath from their lungs.

Newt’s never been the type to wear his emotions on display for everyone to see, like Thomas often does. But something about tonight makes him want to bare his soul to the pretty boy underneath him. Maybe it’s the twinkling specks of blue scattered around them. Perhaps it’s because he feels as if his vision has been enhanced, almost turned up to transcendental levels, letting him relish every single detail of Thomas’ magnificence. 

Said boy is currently looking up at him fervently through thick eyelashes, breathing shakily with parted lips, and Newt can’t help but articulate his adoration. 

“You are so beautiful,” Newt says and watches as Thomas flushes and his skin turns into a rosy sky with glowing, blue stars dotted all over it. 

Though, for some odd reason, Thomas doesn’t look very convinced. Starry-eyed, he stares up at Newt in disbelief. “You really mean that?”

“‘Course I do,” Newt promises, brushing a thumb across Tommy’s cheekbone to paint him with bioluminescent stardust. The light intensifies under his touch. “I wish you could see yourself right now. If you did, you wouldn’t bother to ask such stupid questions.”

“No, I’m fine like this,” Thomas laughs, smirking slightly. “I prefer looking at you.” 

“Bloody charmer,” Newt mutters before kissing him again. 

He rocks his hips down and forward, deciding that it’s time to give up on trying to be subtle. They both crave this, Newt can feel it in the growing tension pressed against his pelvis. The thin material of their underwear isn’t doing much to hide it. 

He kisses Thomas deeper, slowly and thoroughly licking into his mouth until he becomes restless and starts squirming underneath the weight of his body. 

“What do you want? Go on, tell me. I’ll do anything for you,” Newt blurts out when he starts getting impatient himself. It’s not just a figure of speech, either. It’s terrifying, really, how much Newt would sacrifice for this boy. How much he would give up. 

Thomas’ pretty moans and whimpers are loud in the quiet space they’ve made for themselves, interrupted only by the crackling firewood and the distant roar of the surf. “Touch me,” he pleads, looking so different here, so wonderfully unguarded when shielded from the rest of the world and its weight on his shoulders. 

It’s funny, Newt thinks, how everybody else sees Thomas as this authoritative, fearless, and untouchable leader. Not that those traits _aren’t_ real parts of his personality—quite the opposite. When he took the initiative to sprint into the Maze, escape from the WCKD facility, and head for the Last City without any backup, that’s who he was; the brave leader that everyone knows and loves and _trusts_. 

But, as it turns out, Newt possesses the special ability to bring out another side of him. 

He is unbelievably gorgeous in his submission as he accepts Newt’s affection with earnest enthusiasm, shamelessly pleading for more by meeting every push and pull of their hips. The contrast of Thomas’ different tendencies will come as a shock to most people, Newt reckons. Or, it _would_ , if anyone else got to see him like this. And, if Newt has any say in the matter, no one else will. 

“Where would you like me to touch you, then? Here?” Newt asks, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down his neck. “Here, maybe?” He teases, dropping a hand down to the waistband of Thomas’s underwear, letting it linger there.

Thomas nods quickly, trying (and failing) to silence a loud moan. He lets his hands wander over Newt’s back, like he needs to hold onto something in an effort to not succumb to ecstasy too soon.

“Use your words,” Newt urges, continuing to kiss and bite the sensitive skin on his neck, tasting saltwater on his tongue. “Answer me, darling.”

Thomas obeys right away. “Yes,” he gasps. “ _Please_.”

If this had happened a couple of weeks ago, perhaps even _days_ , Tommy wouldn’t have let it get this far. He would’ve shied away before their kisses became too heated, probably telling himself that pleasure is a rare luxury for which he has no time or entitlement to. 

But something has clearly changed. Newt's head spins as he tugs on Thomas’ boxers, making quick work of discarding them. And just like that, he is presented with an endless amount of possible ways to take care of him. To make him feel like he is worth something— _everything_ , hopefully. 

“Oh, God,” Thomas groans when Newt takes him in hand, all the while leaving love bites on his neck and collarbone. His fingers twist in Newt’s hair, keeping him close while the other hand is forming long scratches down his back.

“Tell me how you feel,” Newt says just to be cheeky. He loves this, loves watching Thomas struggle to form intelligible words. He quickens the pace in hopes of coaxing a confession or two out of him.

“Feels—feels so good,” Thomas stammers. “Don’t stop...”

Newt certainly will not. How could he possibly find it in himself to stop when he’s finally got Thomas like this—spread out underneath him, beautifully responsive and drunk on pleasure, bucking up into the touch of his hand? As if all that wasn’t enough, he looks golden in the firelight, sparkling where the blue shimmer lingers on his face and chest. He is, in short, too good to be true. 

“Christ, Tommy, look at you,” Newt babbles, unable to stop the praise from spilling out, but also having difficulty with putting his love down to words. “You’re being so good,” is what he settles on, even though it is quite the understatement. “So pretty.”

Thankfully, it seems to be what Thomas wants to hear. If it weren’t for the circumstances, Newt would have wanted to point out and maybe even tease him a bit about how much of an overwhelming effect the compliments seem to have on him. He clearly loves them—there’s a desperate look on his face, like he can’t get enough of anything that’s currently happening. Newt can’t blame him.

Thomas’s obedient mouth falls open under his the second Newt dips down to press their lips together. The kiss is messy, almost rough, and he swallows Thomas’ moans, his wordless pleas for release. 

They continue like this for an unapprehended amount of time, getting lost in each other and the consuming sense of euphoria. Newt continues to express his appreciation, getting Thomas closer and closer to the peak with every praising word and touch.

“ _Fuck_ , Newt,” he gasps, out of breath and flushed from head to toe. “I’m gonna—”

“Yeah? Go on, love,” Newt tells him firmly. “Let go.”

And then Newt watches with fascination as the wave of bliss crests, sending Thomas tumbling over the edge with a sound that can nearly be described as a sob. 

The look on his face is nothing short of enchanting. Newt makes a promise to himself, then, that he’s going to do his best to make it happen again—whenever Thomas wants it to. 

He presses tender kisses all over Tommy’s face as he slowly comes down from the high, seemingly almost too exhausted to react properly.

Later, Thomas offers to use his mouth to return the favour. He leaves a trail of burning kisses down Newt’s chest and torso before letting eager lips wrap around him, excited to please. Golden, fiery eyes look up to silently ask for affirmation. Newt gives it to him by tangling his fingers in Thomas’ hair, holding him in place while whispering sultry words of praise. It is pure bliss. 

And when Newt joins him on the other side of satisfaction, he thinks they both may have just found out what it’s truly like to be content. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: the glowing algae is a real thing and it can be found at kogel bay beach, south africa where they shot the safe haven scenes!!! it’s fuckin beautiful, check out in [this video!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eTDxjOjzm9w&t=24s) (it’s only two minutes or so) (it really looks like a galaxy of blue starlight)


	5. lover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen to “lover” [here!](https://open.spotify.com/track/1dGr1c8CrMLDpV6mPbImSI?si=pAdxcOM9QmWZcnwmv2to9A) warning for smut. again. sorry, but chiara demanded it.

There was another time when he thought the same thing, but the illusion shattered the moment he saw the fear in Thomas’s eyes as he said, _it’s WCKD_. _It’s always been WCKD_. 

After having the luxury of sleeping in a proper bed, after being served food by people who actually knew what they were doing (no offense, Fry) and after having a bloody _shower_ , the sudden loss of that feeling of comfort was nearly enough to make Newt give up on everything. 

But this time, the feeling does not dissolve. 

Instead, it follows him around like a fluffy cloud, like invisible grains of light on his skin. Wherever he goes, whatever he does... there it is. 

(So is Tommy, which is hardly a coincidence. He is, to put it simply, comfort personified.)

It lingers the next day when Vince makes a very ironic complaint. “You guys missed out on something incredible this morning. I woke up right before sunrise and finally got to see some bioluminescent algae. It was glowing like crazy! Too bad you lazy teenagers were too busy sleeping. As usual.”

“Yeah, too bad,” Thomas replies, playfully knocking their shoulders together. “Right, Newt? I wish we’d been there to see it.” 

“So do I,” Newt says through a ripple of laughter that he can’t stop in time. “What a bloody tragedy.”

Vince narrows his eyes—clearly suspicious—but doesn’t say anything else. 

As the days pass, the peace of mind does not. 

In fact, nothing really changes. Now, that may seem boring to some, but for Newt, it is a utopian luxury. 

He’s never had stability in his life before. Not that he can remember, anyway. Life in the Glade came close, but the storm of questions and worries in his head wasn’t very sustainable. _Will we be stuck in here for all eternity? Who did this to us? Will Minho make it back before the Doors close tonight?_

Here, however, uncertainty and worry have become two foreign concepts. 

No one is out to get them. No one is about to pull the rug out beneath their feet anymore. Also, Thomas loves him, so there’s that. More importantly, Thomas feels like he’s going to be okay. 

And that’s enough for Newt to make him feel the same.

He thinks about that night on the beach quite often. He thinks about how amendable they both were to trust each other with the contents of their hearts and souls. Their confessions were a turning point which Newt never could’ve foreseen the positive effects of. 

He feels them during the evenings. Especially when Thomas puts his head on his shoulder; a silent but persistent request to be held closer. 

He feels them as the months slip away. Once their very own (and _very_ secluded) hut is built, Newt discovers that his favourite thing is to turn Thomas’ bubbly laughter into moans by pressing him up against the door. 

It’s their third week of living together ( _actually_ living together, within the freeing space of four walls instead of a tiny hammock) when he makes this discovery. Later, when they’re making out on their shared bed, Thomas takes a second to breathe and hesitantly tells Newt about his deepest wishes and desires, about what he’s apparently been craving for a while now. 

“Want you,” he whispers, determined. Even though the words could mean several things, Newt understands the implications of them immediately. He is transported back to a few weeks ago when they had stumbled into the supply cupboard after everyone had gone to sleep—delirious and a bit tipsy—looking for a spare flask of almond oil which hopefully no one would miss if it were to be taken. 

It was somewhat of a drunken spur-of-the-moment type of decision to steal it, mostly suggested by Thomas’s mischievous smile and a bashful duck of his head followed by, _I don’t think anyone would notice if we, uh, borrowed it._

Honestly, Newt didn’t think anything was going to come of it. It’s been laying in their bedside drawer, hidden and forgotten, ever since that night. 

Until now. 

Now, Thomas lies before him, sprawled out and helplessly begging for fulfillment by panting, “I’m ready, Newt, _please_ ,” while looking up at him through glossy eyes. He’s close already, from his fingers _alone_ , which makes a jolt of pride surge through Newt. 

“Are you sure?” The last thing Newt wants to do is hurt him. 

“Yeah,” Thomas promises, beautifully flushed with pleasure and anticipation. “Just go slow, okay?”

 _Of course_ is what Newt intends to say, but he can only manage to turn the words into a nod when they get stuck in his throat at the sight of him—trembling, _wanting_ , open and vulnerable in a way he’s never been before. 

As Newt carefully presses into him, the quiet room fills with their shared sighs of satisfaction, their shared life together, and the promise of a future with many perfect moments like this one. 

“Tommy, are you good? Does this feel okay?” 

He nods in response and hides his face against Newt’s neck, like he is much too overwhelmed, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

Newt feels the same way. The all-consuming sense of arousal is almost too much to handle. His heart beats wildly when he takes Tommy’s hand in his and presses it against the sheets alongside his head. 

A subdued moan escapes Thomas as they find a rhythm together. 

“There’s no need to be quiet here, my love,” Newt reminds him through rapid breaths. They don’t have to sneak around anymore now that they’ve got their own place. “Let me hear you.”

That certainly gets him going. 

Newt savors the thrill of being the first, being the _only_ one who’s got the privilege of seeing Thomas like this—with glistening, puffy lips and messy hair in low candlelight.

Abiding eye contact is maintained throughout the whole thing—it has Thomas gazing up at Newt, overwhelmed and doubtlessly in awe, like he is looking at the person who created the world, who sprinkled the stars across the sky. Newt thinks that the expression must be mirrored on his own face. 

“Love you,” Thomas slurs when his breaths start to come in irregular gasps against the crook of Newt’s neck, when they both fall apart from the touch of one another. “Love you so much.”

Afterward, when Thomas lies safe and curled up in his arms, Newt thinks that life cannot possibly get better than this. 

He’s wrong. 

There is a ring waiting for Newt on his pillow. 

Its golden metal creates a stark contrast against the white sheets, catching his attention immediately. 

It is barely past dinner time, but Newt is exhausted. He just said goodnight to everyone, and Thomas had said that he was going to stay up a bit longer, so Newt retreated back to their cabin alone.

And now there’s a _ring_ on his pillow. So _that’s_ why Thomas has been acting skittish all night.

He doesn't have time to process what he is seeing before a floorboard creaks, interrupting his thoughts.

“Is there something you would like to ask me, Tommy?” Newt whispers out into the tranquility, desperately trying to keep his voice steady. It’s a tough challenge, to say the least. 

“Yeah,” says a voice behind him, sounding equally as breathless. “There is.”

Newt spins around to find Thomas standing there, nervously fidgeting with the capsule around his neck that he refuses to take off. 

“Go on, then,” Newt replies, and Thomas takes a few steps toward him until they’re as close as can be. 

“I have your necklace, and I thought that maybe... maybe you’d want something of mine?” Thomas says through a timid murmur. “So I made you, um, _that_. It’s fine if you don’t wanna wear it, I just—”

“Tommy,” Newt takes both of his hands in his, hopefully silencing his fears with the help of a tender touch. They sit down on the edge of their bed together, and Newt withdraws one hand to pick up the ring. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I want to wear it.” 

The ring in question is made out of a metal wire that has been twisted around itself, creating two layers of gold. It’s certainly not perfect, but that might actually be the very thing that makes it so. 

“Okay, sorry. Uh, here it goes, then,” Thomas starts, squeezing Newt’s hand before continuing. “I know the world is nothing like it was before, but this is something that I think still makes sense—the symbolism of a ring, you know? Some of my memories are starting to come back, and you are at the center of all of them. You’re the reason why I—” seemingly frustrated, he cuts himself off. “What I’m _trying_ to say is that everything comes back to you, Newt. So if you’ll have me, then... I’m yours. For as long as you want.”

Newt can’t help it, he breaks out into what is undoubtedly the biggest smile known to man. And there it is again—the fluffy cloud, the feeling of being lit up with sunlight from inside. What is it? What does it mean? 

Newt doesn’t realise just how affected he is until he tries to speak and no words come out, just a disbelieving laugh. He can only nod, which in turn makes the other boy look like his soul has been lit up with the same kind of sunlight.

“Yeah?” Thomas says with tears in his eyes. Happy ones this time.

“ _Yes_ , of course I’ll have you,” Newt confirms, handing the ring over. “What, am I supposed to put it on myself? C’mon, be a gentleman about it, will you?” 

As Tommy laughs and slides the ring onto his finger, a beautiful epiphany presents itself.

This is what happiness feels like.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, thanks for reading! 
> 
> here’s a lil shoutout to my fam: emma, avery, mer, chiara, alice and betty <333 ty for being great friends. i feel like we have shared trauma now lmao. i hope this cheered you up, darlings!! 
> 
> here’s [my twitter](https://twitter.com/fIarevirus) if you wanna yell at me. (be kind, though. there's too much negativity in the world.)


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